


Dancing

by leen_go (cagedchaos)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: 1st person pov, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2018-10-25 09:54:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10761843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagedchaos/pseuds/leen_go
Summary: Some would call him easy, but to me, he’s just Zhang Yixing. When is he going to learn that I’m the best for him? (Written in first person: Wu Yifan.)





	Dancing

I don't blame Zhang Yixing for the long list of guys he calls his ex's, or one-night-stands; being brought up in a house where love doesn't exist will do that to you. I've tried convincing myself that it's just a childish crush, but guys come and go, and he's still the one I want the most.  
  
I can tell that even _he_ gets tired of all the empty nights spent with guys whose names he can't even remember. On these occasions, he always calls me up to go dancing. I know he only does it because he needs the loud distraction, with me as the insurance policy that will keep him from leaving the club with another nameless face.  
  
Today is one of those days.  
  
He shows up at my door unannounced, as he usually does, because I’m always home. (I've learned to not ask questions, and to simply go along for the ride, but it's hard when he's smiling up at me in the club with those deep brown eyes and full lips. And then flipping his dark hair out of his eyes, laughing from the temporary escape he gets from twenty martinis.)  
  
We order pizza and snuggle up on my beat up couch, watching "The Hangover" for probably the millionth time. When darkness falls and the city's lights are all that can be seen for miles outside my eighteenth floor apartment, he changes into one of the many outfits he leaves at my place. I change into acceptable club attire with Yixing still in the room; I know he doesn't care because he's never seen me in that way before. I watch him pull at a few loose hairs, trying to get the curls to cooperate, and the concentrated pout on his face makes me want to simply scoop him up and kiss him right there.  
  
I hold my arm out for him instead, swallowing the lump that has formed in my throat. "Shall we?"  
  
"We shall!" he exclaims a little too excitedly as he wraps his slim elbow around my own, but I can't help but smile at him anyway. He's already had almost two whole bottles of wine, and his smile doesn't quite reach his glazed eyes.  
  
I grab my wallet and lock the door behind me, hiding the key behind the hideous painting hanging in an equally hideous hallway.  
  
I cannot dance, even if you put a gun to my head and a dagger at my heart. Yixing knows this but always pulls me along anyway. As soon as he's through the doors, his hips are swaying to the beat, his eyes asking that I join him.  
  
Like I have a choice.  
  
He doesn't need me there, not really, because this is his element. The alcohol in his system makes him giggle too much like a little school girl, spinning a full circle on the spot while I stand awkwardly nearby with my arms folded. He frowns at me, grabbing my hand and pulling me deeper into the crowd, and he finally gets me to move with him; he puts my hand on his hip, his back against my chest.  
  
I have to remind myself that breathing is supposed to be natural and easy, but the air is getting too thick and too heavy and too hot to be comfortable, even for the inside of a club past midnight.  
  
When the song is over, I know I can't do another without losing my control; I’m barely keeping it together even now. I offer to grab us a couple of drinks, not waiting for his approval before I disappear. As soon as I walk away, I regret it because I’ll never be able to find him again in this mess of people, but I continue anyway, putting more and more space between me and him.  
  
I need it.  
  
There are just as many people at the bar counter as there are back on the dance floor but somehow I can breathe again. Ironically, the assault of sweat and alcohol is heaven compared to the intoxicating scent of strawberries that always emanates from Yixing’s hair. I practically lose my voice trying to holler over the pounding music to the bartender, who is rushing about trying to tend to fifteen people at once. I muse to myself that he's pretty good at what he does and that he's cute, even if only still a weed next to Yixing.  
  
By the time I get back, Yixing is gone, and I suddenly feel stupid with a cold beer in one hand and a vodka martini in the other. It takes me a while to locate him again, scanning my eyes over most of the heads of those around me. This is one of the rare times being tall (and lanky) pays off. I find him about a yard away, exchanging saliva with a young fellow that can't, and won’t, appreciate him for being Zhang Yixing, and not 'some guy at the club'.  
  
I lose an argument to myself about interrupting them, and head over, tapping the guy on the shoulder, which earns me a glare that could frighten someone less annoyed than I am right now. Yixing takes the drink I offer him, and links his arm through mine without a second glance at the stranger, a clear indication for him to leave.  
  
Yixing acts like nothing has happened, all smiles as he tries to get me to move with him again, which only makes me mad. He chases after me as I storm towards the club’s door, but I manage to lose him in the throng of moving bodies.  
  
I'm halfway home when I realize that I'd left Yixing alone when it was the one day he had trusted me not to. I swivel a-hundred-eighty degrees on my heel and walk – no, run – back, not caring that it's starting to rain. The droplets feel like flower petals against my face anyway.  
  
I find him in an alley with the same guy I'd dismissed earlier in the club, but this time I don't have the courage to do it again. Instead, I turn away and lean back on the dirty brick wall.  
  
I pretend the wet streaks on my face are products of the rumbling clouds in the dark sky overhead.  
  
"Well, well. Zhang Yixing says no. That's a first." The condescending voice cuts through the pounding of the rain against asphalt.  
  
A second later, the young stranger is walking past me but he doesn't get far before his face is in the ground and I step over his groaning figure towards Yixing, still flexing my hand of the hard impact.  
  
Yixing all but falls into my arms, shaking violently, an almost desperate tone laced into his words, "I thought you left." It's less of an accusation than a sigh of relief that he’s wrong.  
  
He feels small against me. _Too_ small.  
  
"You can't leave me. _Ever._ Promise me, Yifan." I nod into his hair, and pull him closer as he grips my wet shirt like a lifeline.  
  
I wait for the shakes to stop before I suggest we get out of the rain. My place is closest, and we're dripping onto the carpet by the time I dig out the key from behind the painting. He's shivering violently despite having so much burning alcohol in his system, so I start running the shower for him.  
  
I don't hear him when he comes out of the shower because I'm already on my way to passing out on my bed. He throws his towel in my face and when I finally clear myself of the linen, I look up to find that he's thrown on one of my favourite sweaters, and it makes him look like a dwarf (it’s a large shirt even on my own body). I can't help but laugh and he frowns at my reaction, reaching out and picking up a pillow from beside me to throw in my face.  
  
I drag him onto the bed with me even as I laugh, trying to ignore the fact that he's only got his boxers on under that sweater. He doesn't bother to cover up as he snuggles into my chest, head resting on my arm like it’s a pillow.  
  
He smells less like intoxicating strawberries now, and more like my own cinnamon-scented body wash mixed with mint toothpaste.  
  
"You know I like you best, right, Fanfan?" he asks, looking up at me with those round eyes.  
  
I look away and make a somewhat noncommittal sound. When I get no response, I look down again and realize he's already asleep, eyelashes fluttering as he settles into slow, even breathing. Sighing, I retrieve my arm out from under his head and pull the covers over him.  
  
I yawn widely, and kiss his forehead once quickly before falling asleep listening to his soft breathing against my chest.  
  
The next morning, I'm up before Yixing, so I decide to make chocolate chip pancakes with maple syrup and melting butter, his favourite smell to wake up to, especially after a night out.  
  
"Mmm, mornin'. Smells delicious." Yixing takes breakfast off the plate using his bare hands, not bothering to be proper and use a fork and knife. He’s still in only my sweater and his boxers as he elbows silent thanks into my side and grabs a mug from the cupboard to pour himself a cup of coffee. His hand is unsteady and he manages to make a small spill next to the sink. He looks up at me innocently before sitting down at the table and setting his mug down next to the plate, clearly expecting me to clean up after him.  
  
I make sure to scowl at him as I grab a square of paper towel off the roll but I don't mind, not really.  
  
I don't mind even though I know he'll be out again tonight, bringing home with him another John Doe. I don't mind because he's wearing _my_ sweater now, and not some other guy's, eating breakfast in _my_ kitchen. I don't mind because when it comes down to it, I'm the one he always turns to when he needs it most.  
  
I don't mind because he'll always be my Zhang Yixing.


End file.
